there's a place called the Lowe
the Lowe Hotel
100 plus years of souls
passing in the halls
leaning against the walls
that view the Ohio River
in its majesty
the Lowe
where stories were born
and still thrive
the room breathes
and crackles with sound as I sleep
whispers...taps...creaks
they are my connection
and I theirs...
window to the living
there are no years
no time or space to measure

'We get you' she said
in a voice as clear as crystal
and as close as dead can be to the living

why is love such a difficult task
hard to capture
harder to grasp
it calls to you from a lover once yours
as you aimlessly stare from your silence
on these shores
how did it fade into something routine
yet hollow your heart
when it
left

have you ever talked to a ghost
I have
have you ever looked death in the face and survived
I have
have you ever contemplated joining the dead
I have...many times
yet I relinquish those thoughts
once I consider
I would just be adding pain
to pain
turn around

the darkness deepens and slowly sighs
as it folds itself around me
envelops me in its thick
choking love
I awaken to shallow breath
and thoughts that border on madness
my sleep is no longer my escape
but rather a harbor for the remnants
of what once was a good life

he was sitting back on a shaded picnic table
his wooden cane laying across the bench
peering towards Luray and Shenandoah Park
absorbing it's beauty while he still had the chance
I was on my morning walk
a few miles
my attempt to remain in some semblance of shape
stave off the inevitable for a bit longer
I wasn't far behind this gentleman
perhaps in his late 70's
10 - 15 years passes like an unrecognizable blur
when you reach this stage
what was he thinking about
I wondered
the kids he never sees
the wife that may or may not still share his days
or perhaps...the love that he let slip away
into the fading mist...his past
I thought I'd say hello on the next pass
but he was gone